work while Ann was sleeping.

30 The smell of breakfast tweaked her hungry nose and she scurried madly with her dressing, for Ben and Helen would eat everything in sight if they felt half as starved as she did.

30

The kitchen seemed altogether different in the daytime. It had grown smaller without the flickering shadows from the lamps. The ceiling was low and Mr. Seymour bumped his head as he came through the doorway; he would have to remember to stoop.

The big kitchen stove hummed merrily with the sweet smell of wood smoke seeping up through the lids, a delicate fragrant thread of gray that curled and disappeared. Mrs. Seymour explained that Mr. Bailey built the fire for her; he had come early to show her how to make it. Just as she spoke he appeared in the doorway again with a foaming milk pail in his hand. His face was unsmiling but his blue eyes were alight.

“So much milk for us?” inquired Mrs. Seymour.

“Drink it down, free as water,” he answered. “That’s what puts the color in children’s cheeks. Get your milk pans ready.”

“Hello,” said Ann. “Isn’t this a fine morning?”

“Morning? Morning?” said Mr. Bailey. “This be the middle of the forenoon.”

Ann saw that his eyes were laughing at her although his face never moved a muscle. “What time is morning up here?” she demanded.

“Oh—about half past three, these days. That’s dawn.”

31 “Do we have to get up at half past three?” cried Ben.

31

“Well, you do if you want to keep up with Jo,” answered his father.

“Where’s Jo now?” Ben asked, getting up from his chair.

“He’s hoein’ corn,” said Mr. Bailey. “Got two rows done already. He’s not one to lie in bed, not Jo.”

“May I hoe with him? I’d like to, really.”

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